Living Death
by Patrick the PROTOTYPE
Summary: At the end of the world what will a man do to survive?


_Jesus, fucking fuck._

_Those backstabbing cunts, fucking saved their asses and left to die in a pool of my blood._

A man lying facedown in a pool of blood slowly began to stir.

_Motherfucker, that hurts._

He slowly stands up to observe his surroundings, a darkened building...once a warehouse storing electronics now filled with dead bodies, all human. Some infected, some not, all dead as a rock.

_Fucking sick fucks, those kids didn't deserve that._

The man looks over to two bodies, very small and holding onto each other in death.

_If only I'd have been faster they'd still have a chance._

He looks over to a set of blood spattered double doors...as an explosion rocks the building.

_I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, but I will avenge you...promise._

The man looks away from the bodies and wipes the tears from his face.

He walks over to the doors and pushes them open with no care for himself. He looks over to a burning husk of an old cropdusting plane and smiles.

_Worked like a fucking charm you cocksucking fucks._

The man proceeds to the remaining gasoline pump on the desolate airstrip as an enraged roar sounds out...and smiles.

_Gonna give these fucks something to eat god-fucking-damn it._

He activates the pump and sprays gasoline around himself and then drops the pump but leaves it on and sits down.

Letting out a wry chuckle the man lights a cigarette and looks around himself.

_Been a hell of a journey, and a hell of a life. Damn shame it has to end this way._

Hearing the hungered snarls of the infected draw close the man pulls out a scoped Magnum Research BFR in .45-70 Government. He proceeds to gun down several of the infected and move toward an old air traffic control building in a fast limp while reloading.

_But I goddamn ain't goin' out like a punk._

He reaches the stairs and turns around only to see hundreds of infected sprinting toward him.

_Shit!_

He fires at the five closest to him before climbing the stairs to the ladder needed to ascend to the uppermost level.

_Goddamn ladders._

He tucks the revolver into his waistband and climbs the ladder. When he reaches the top he slams the lid shut and bolts it closed and reloads again.

_15 rounds left...christ._

He gives a dejected stare at the weapon which got him so far from his last encounter with near death.

_20 goddamn miles, I've made it twenty goddamn motherfucking miles and these fucks were just lying in wait to corner me...shit, that's a good plan._

Hearing the lid scraping at the bolt he looks at the windows, barred but infected climbing onto the roof as well.

_Haha...I'm fucked._

The man just lets out a sobbing laugh.

_I'm out of options, almost out of ammo and just shit out of luck._

He slaps himself and sits on the floor just in front of the access hatch and watches the lid start shaking violently, along with everything else.

_Just what I need, a goddamn tank._

An angry bloodthirsty roar sounds out just as the hatch gives way.

_Time to live one last time..._

He shoots the first one up straight through the head and watches it fall down the hatch again. He keeps the BFR leveled at the hatch and shoots four more and then reloads.

_10 rounds..._

He finishes in time to shoot one in the stomach as it gets into the room. He finishes it with a shot to the skull and focuses on the others and guns down two more.

_5 fucking rounds...shit._

He shoots two more and waits 10 seconds before feeling the floor shake, and moves to look through the hatch...only to see an enraged tank headed for him.

He unloads two rounds to the tanks face and then backs up again.

_So here it ends huh...not without one last fuck you God you cunting fuck._

The man produces a bundle of dynamite from his jacket and falls the the ground...his wounds finally getting the better of him.

_Come on...come to papa, you ugly bitch._

He aims the revolver at the fuse as the tank comes through the hatch...destroying it and causeing the floor to groan loudly in protest.

The man fires at the shortened fuse and doesn't light it.

_Fucking figures..._

The tank swats him through the wall and down the the ground one hundred feet away, back at the gasoline pumps.

_Jesus, fuck...that ain't good._

The man looks down at his obviously broken legs, bones sticking through the skin and screams in agony.

He looks around and sees the dynamite...arms length away and grabs it.

_Wish I had a smoke..._

He sees his earlier discarded cigarette and smiles in excitement.

_Fucking come get me asshole._

The tank proceeds to jump down from the tower and start for the man...

The man inhales one last breath of nicotine and holds the cigarette to the fuse waiting on the tank.

"Come on, come on!"

The man taunts the enraged beast.

With the tank ten feet away the man lights the fuse and awaits his iminent death only lamenting not being able to finish his smoke...

In a massive explosion caused by the dynamite, the gasoline pumps detonated as well and caused nearby propane tanks to burst in addition to blowing up the massive amounts of jet fuel stored underground mere feet away. The tiny desolate airstrip was destroyed and everything in a 1,000 foot radius incinerated and lost.


End file.
